Plantation Life
by RedEastMovement
Summary: Michelle Mancham is kidnapped and sold by British slave traders from her island nation of Seychelles to the booming American slave trade market. She had it all: A loving French husband, children, even a mansion. Now she is one of Alfred Jones' slaves. However, Alfred isn't like most slave owners... Warnings (Throughout): Smut, Racism, Heavy Language, Murder


I - Sale and Purchase

**Warnings: **_Racism, especially the heavy usage of "n*gger" and other forms of the word._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Hetalia or the characters. Because Seychelles is the only African country to be featured in Hetalia (so far), I used her in this fanfiction, regardless if or if not Seychellois peoples were transported to America during slavery days._

**Notes: **_This is my third fanfiction, and I really am trying this time to use another character rather than Germany/Ludwig. After I watched and rewatched __**Django Unchained**__, I felt the urge of writing a slavery fanfiction based on America x Seychelles. I will warn you from this point on that for the sake of this story, I had to use language and ideas that the people of that time would find to be quite acceptable, but horribly racist today. _

_Criticize me for all I want in the reviews, but if its just another complaint about the n- word, please shut it. You SAW the warnings. You had to have READ me reiterating the same warning in these notes. Yet you still move on, only to complain about something you've been explicitly warned about? Please, grow up._

_Enjoy. _

* * *

Alfred Jones was one among the many faces in the crowd around the slave traders' block in Memphis, Tennessee one hot, muggy August afternoon. Most men were in place of the real plantation owners who had gone back to their plantation houses to cool off, but Alfred took pride in doing the business himself to get it done right the first time, even if his tuxedo was now splattered by mud and drenched in his own sweat. He didn't even get to eat lunch, and he even ordered his head cook to create his favorite lunch: a disk-shaped slab of meat between two, freshly baked buns with a pile of fried, salted sticks of potatoes Alfred liked to call "French Fries."

Alfred had no use for male slaves in his plantation, for he often hired poorer white farmers for a wage to do a job, in his mind, could do better than any nigger could, even if it meant higher "operating costs." That was his style; no matter the price, Alfred wanted shit done right the first time. And it was now time for the last event of the day: the sale of African slave women for housework or for breeding purposes. Alfred, though he fully believed in the inferiority of Negroes to whites as other Southerners did at the time, he secretly admired the quality of African women, an admiration acquired due to an Englishman's drunken bet to rape one of his neighbor's breeding slaves, which, of course, ended badly for the slave (she was fed to the dogs), but sparked an addiction for Alfred for "chocolate."

After the sale of more than 20 women Alfred found "undesirable," he finally laid eyes on a young Seychellois girl that with his body trembling in want, palms sweating vigorously, was sure to be one of the "desirables."

"Alright gentlemen, this young nigger girl is up for sale today. She is from the British Seychelles and could ideally be used, because of her young age, around the household, but based on from what our experts say, can also be used for breeding stock immediately," The auctioneer began. The old man, dressed in a simple overall outfit with a brown fedora, walked over to the young girl and called over two husky man to hold her arms as he pulled out a metal pointer and began to poke different parts of her body, detailing her features as would a modern-day car salesman would do.

Alfred only got a few snippets from the auctioneer: "…perfectly proportioned breasts …lean frame." For normal buyers, they would only be interested in how their profits could benefit from her profits. For Alfred however, was only interested in curbing his sexual desire.

After an hour of hostile bidding, he walked away from the auction block with the girl paying $2,000, a very high sum of money back then and even in modern times. Alfred personally rode with the girl at the back of the slave cart back to the plantation with the explanation to his clueless driver that he was to begin "training the girl of the duties of the plantation."

"Are you alright, miss?" Alfred asked casually. The African only looked to the side, not paying attention to him.

He nodded, looking down, smirking to himself. Alfred knew how to connect with slaves. He was once a sailor in the early US Navy. During the War of 1812, his ship was captured by the British and as a P.O.W, was forced to work on _HMS Warrior_ for over 10 years before making his escape during a stopover in Mobile, Alabama. Because of his American nationality, and the fact that British-American relations were still sour around the time, he, like many other impressed American sailors, were treated LIKE slaves. Consequently, Alfred often used this experience to try to get his slaves to warm up to him, to trust him because of what he believes is a connection to their plight.

Realizing that Seychelles was once a former colony of France, he tried to speak in French. "Bonjour, Maadume," he began.

The African girl looked at him like some sort of a dumbass, and shook her head. "I speak English. Those damn British pigs make me. Raises my value."

Alfred folded his arms and nodded. "I see. What's your name?"

The girl replied, "Michelle. But what's it to you? Aren't you going to just give me some number?"

"You speak English, though I can hear your French accent. What I don't get, nigger, is how you think you know shit will go down?"

Michelle shot him a hard glance, but looked down to the floor of the cart, sighing. "Unlike you English speaking idiots, the French don't mind indigenous people on whatever shit they colonize. Hell, I was actually married to a Frenchman till the British came. Life wasn't paradise, but better with the French than with the British. Because of my husband, I learned English and French, and actually got some form of what you call formal education. When the British came, and my husband stubbornly tried to resist having his copra business taken, they shot him, and because of my skin color, took me in as a slave, even if I tried showing them that I was educated and could be of some use." By now, tears were running down her face like a cascading waterfall. "If you are just going to use me as a whore, or some sort of stupid house maid, please, kill me already. I'll just rebel and give you trouble anyway, so why don't you take whatever you have and kill me already?"

Alfred sighed and shook his head. Michelle had turned the other direction and refused to speak any longer. Had Alfred been another slave owner, he would have fulfilled her request the moment she refused to answer his very first question. Considering the circumstances she laid down, which by her emotions must be true, he felt truly sorry for the girl. She wasn't like the typical Negro girl who had no idea what the modern world was like. Alfred could not use that basis to say that because of her cluelessness, that manipulating her could be justified. Michelle was a widow, and because of whatever her former husband gave her as education, would be harder to justifiably manipulate.

The horse-drawn cart veered left, signaling the entrance to Alfred's 45,000 acre cotton plantation, the Cotton Queen. He looked out to the endless cotton fields where his paid white workers worked the cotton fields, the ones that noticed the cart rolling by tipping their hats off to their boss. Seeing their master arriving from afar, all of Alfred's "girls" stepped out onto the front porch of the chalk-white mansion that stood apart from the other scattered lodges of the poorer workers. He was particularly picky of the quality and features of each woman, so although Alfred was one of the richest men in Memphis, he spent only little money compared to other plantation owners.

As the horse-drawn cart was pulling up to the front porch of the front porch of the great mansion, each one of the fourteen girls bowed in respect for their master, straightening their posture only after Alfred waved them off, gently "escorting" Michelle to the entrance of the house.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones," recited the girls in unison. While each woman was different, they shared petite figures and constant features with no varying extremes, including things like breast and butt size, etc.

"Good afternoon, my ladies. If you excuse me, I need to rest from acquiring this fine lady here." Alfred lightly pushed Michelle to the group of women, chuckling, before going inside to the mansion.

The group of women looked at Michelle and turned away, some sobbing silently to themselves, wiping their eyes. Michelle tilted her head, as if confused with the sudden shift of attitude with the women.

"Why…are you crying?" Michelle asked slowly.

One of the women, presumably the oldest by how she carried herself, suddenly drew her into a tight hug, weeping in her shoulder. "Your life is over as you know it child."


End file.
